


then plainly know my heart's dear love is set

by Carmarthen



Category: Romeo And Juliet - All Media Types, Romeo et Juliette - Presgurvic, Rómeó és Júlia (Színház)
Genre: 16th Century CE, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Cousin Incest, Established Relationship, Everybody Lives, F/M, First Kiss, Fix-It, Kissing, M/M, Multi, OT3, Polyamory, Romance, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-05
Updated: 2015-07-05
Packaged: 2018-04-07 19:07:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4274634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Carmarthen/pseuds/Carmarthen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Julia and Romeo and Tybalt have been feeling their way cautiously around something new and strange since Tybalt came to Mantua; what finally sparks the tinder none of them could have expected.</p>
<p>(Set in an assumed fix-it universe in which nobody dies, Tybalt fled Verona and has been trying to mend his relationship with Julia, and Romeo and Tybalt are already sleeping together but Julia and Tybalt are talking around the elephant in the room. One of these days I'll actually properly write a whole fix-it, I swear.)</p>
<p>Based on the Hungarian musical production. Tybalt and Julia are cousins as in canon, but I'd say Julia in this story is 17 or 18.</p>
            </blockquote>





	then plainly know my heart's dear love is set

**Author's Note:**

  * For [madame_le_maire](https://archiveofourown.org/users/madame_le_maire/gifts).



> I've been thinking about writing this for you since last Yuletide, but it took a while for it to actually happen. Hopefully this OT3 still appeals. :-)
> 
> Definitely had younger, less sardonic proshot Tybalt in mind here.

Over the winter since Tybalt had arrived in Mantua and begged for shelter, he had been quiet and withdrawn, as careful around Julia as if he feared that one wrong word would see him turned out.

It was, she supposed, better than before, when he had drawn so far away from her he had become a cold and frightening stranger. If the cause of his fear was not something the three of them spoke of openly, at least she knew now what it was, spoken in the way he looked at them sometimes, in how his hands shook when he passed her the salt at supper, the way he leaned into Romeo's friendly embrace and then pulled away with a guilty start.

Perhaps he was a little easier with Romeo, who was not his cousin, who he had only tried to kill in rage and pain, not keep stifled into a cage of duty and denial in the name of protection. They had never even kissed where Julia might see; if Tybalt was different when she was not present, how could she know?

She supposed it was not very good of her, but sometimes she was very tired of being patient. She supposed that was part of growing up, waiting for something—someone—you loved to be ready, to finally look at you and see not a child or an impossible dream or his own sins, but you for who you were.

”Julia?" Tybalt squinted in the dimmer light of the villa—already it was midmorning, the sun beating down bright outside—peering around.

She set aside her book and went to him. "Good morning, cousin," she said, standing on tiptoes to kiss his cheek. His skin was soft under her lips. “What did you find for me this time?"

Tybalt's hands were cupped around something—perhaps early berries, or some pretty pebble he had found. He had taken to long walks in the orchards in the early morning as the days warmed and flowered, bringing back little things he thought she might like. He always offered them with the same diffidence, as if he wanted to apologize for not offering her the sun and moon. Her windowsill was a magpie's hoard: shards of painted pottery, tarnished old Roman coins, curiously shaped seedpods and empty speckled eggshells, glass beads from long-lost bracelets; the sun and moon would not fit.

”Ah," he said, opening his eyes again. He no longer flinched away from her kiss, but had progressed to squeezing his eyes shut and holding his breath, as if he was afraid of waking from a dream. "A surprise. Close your eyes and hold out your hands."

She obeyed without thinking, as she had a hundred times before, and then gave a little shriek of surprise at the feel of something damp and cool and very much alive.

The frog leapt from her palm as she startled, her eyes flying open. "Tybalt, what—"

Romeo rushed into the room from the garden so quickly he almost tripped over a table, catching himself against the doorframe at the last moment with his fingertips. "Julia, are you hurt?"

She shrieked again as Romeo nearly stepped on the frog, which was flinging itself wildly around the room in panic. "Hold still," she cried. "Don't move! You'll crush it!”

It had been a very long time since Julia has caught a frog—the last time, in fact, had been the summer they visited Tybalt's grandfather in Grezzana. Tybalt had brought her the first one, a tiny emerald green thing like a golden-eyed jewel, and she spent the rest of the summer chasing frogs with single-minded intensity, until at last she fell into the pond and Nurse decreed an end to it (Tybalt had brought her frogs all summer in sympathy).

It turned out that there were things she hasn't forgotten, that under all the pretty clothes and neatly braided hair of a young married lady, there was still the girl with tangled hair and kilted-up skirts, mud to her knees as she smiled triumphantly at her catch.

This frog was bigger than the ones in Grezzana, handsomely spotted, with a delicate pale throat quivering in anxiety as it sat in her cupped hands. "It's lovely," she said, "but perhaps it would prefer to be outside. Romeo, would you do the honors?"

"I'm sorry," Tybalt said, after Romeo had departed with the frog. "I thought—I don't know. It was a gift for a child." He frowned, not meeting her eyes, and his voice came out a barely audible mumble. "I was only thinking this morning of Grezzana, how happy you were—of course you're not a child anymore—I shouldn't have—"

His shoulders had hunched and he was leaning forward a little so his hair curtained his face. Julia knew the signs; when he thought he had erred he would disappear into his room for days. One step forward, two steps back.

"Tybalt," she said, taking his hand in hers and reaching up to tuck his hair behind his ear with the other, "I wish you had not told me to close my eyes, that is all. Just because I am grown up doesn't mean I don't still like frogs, when they are not a surprise. It was a very fine frog; no wonder it reminded you of me."

He did not laugh at her jest, only flushed and tried to pull away. "Don't mock," he said hoarsely, "you know I think you're—"

Tybalt sprang away from her at the sound of footsteps on the flagstones. Julia wasn't sure whether to be relieved that Romeo had come to rescue her from deciding what to do or angry that he had interrupted—whatever he had interrupted. Honesty, for once, perhaps.

"Your frog is happily enthroned in the pond," Romeo informed her, slipping an arm around her waist and kissing her brow, and she couldn't even be a little annoyed with him after all. 

"I confess I feel a little envious that all the gifts are for Julia," he added. Tybalt, who had managed to compose himself into blankness, slipped into confusion. "I might start to think you don't like me as much."

He was smiling at Tybalt now, that smile Julia had loved him for from the first; and he was very handsome and boyish today, with his doublet abandoned somewhere after breakfast and his sleeves rolled up, a sheen of sweat on his forearms and brow. Poor Tybalt had no chance, she thought, hiding a smile behind her hand.

"You...want me to bring you frogs?" Tybalt asked, baffled.

Romeo grinned and lowered his eyes for a moment in a look Julia knew well. "If you must. I would prefer a kiss." He licked his lips and glanced up again.

This time the glance Tybalt gave Julia was shot with terror as well as guilt. Of course she knew perfectly well that they kissed each other, and more, when she wasn't around. It made no difference to her if they kissed in front of her, so she smiled and shrugged.

Romeo did not move from her side, his arm resting easily around her as she leaned against his shoulder. After a moment Tybalt came over, walking stiffly.

She felt as if she was intruding, a little, but if Romeo had wanted privacy he wouldn't have asked now, wouldn't have kept his arm around her. And she was curious, too curious not to peek just a little, to see Tybalt lean in and press his lips against Romeo's as awkwardly as if it was the first time. She looked away. Someone made a little noise, a half-swallowed sound not quite a sob, and when she looked again Romeo had his hand in Tybalt's hair, stroking gently, and Tybalt had closed his eyes, and everything was much less awkward, except for the warm flush Julia felt spreading down her face and throat and the familiar flutter in her belly. Everywhere she touched Romeo felt hot, and she knew that she only had to reach out and she could be touching Tybalt as well. The world seemed full of possibility.

"Much better," Romeo said after a moment. "I don't feel so left out now."

"But I do." Julia spoke before she could stop herself, and her voice came small and breathless. "Who will give me a kiss?"

Romeo raised his brows at her, eyes laughing. "And who should you like to kiss you?" he asked, pulling her tighter to him.

Her gaze went to Tybalt without thought, and his eyes went wide, mouth slack with surprise. Perhaps she had misread after all—oh, she was selfish, to envy them when Tybalt was more content than she had seen him since they were children.

But Tybalt looked at Romeo, who held out his hand—Tybalt's hand was trembling, and he grabbed on with the desperation of a drowning man.

"Gently," Romeo murmured, "don't break my fingers. _Gently._ ”

The second time she did not think he was speaking of his own hand. Tybalt took a deep breath and looked down at their clasped hands, relaxing a little, although tension was still written in the line of his shoulders.

"Tybalt," she said, because he had frozen in hesitation, and she realized she hadn't chosen, not really. They had gone too far already not to go forward. "Will you? Do you want—"

His mouth cut off her question, swift and desperate but not hard, not hard at all—he had needed no reminder to be gentle with her after all.

It was a heady feeling, to have Tybalt, who had so long been all sharp angles and hard edges, go soft for her, his hand feather-light against her cheek, stroking her hair back from her brow as if she were as delicate as a baby bird. It made her heart ache and her face warm. 

They both thought her more fragile than she was, Tybalt and Romeo; she was not made of glass, and they need not treat her so. Perhaps she had not kissed so many people as Tybalt had, but she had only been kissed in love. She could not undo the past, but this she could offer him.

She pressed forward, safe with Romeo's arm around her; she had not asked for a chaste kiss and would not give one. 

Again Tybalt made that sound, a swallowed gasp of shock, half moan and half sob. His fingers slipped into her hair, cradling her head, and she knew that if Romeo had not held them both Tybalt would have wrapped himself around her already, body to body, as close as two people could be without joining. 

He still let her lead, lips parting for her tongue as she drew him down to her, but she could feel the trembling in him, the slow fray of control tested past bearing. Her heart raced, the heat spreading through her as much terrifying as stirring—Tybalt was not at all like Romeo, not at all—but still Romeo was a steady presence at her side, giving her courage.

Tybalt's eyes were still closed as she slowly pulled away, letting her lips linger against his a moment longer. There would be other kisses, she told herself, as many kisses as it took.

"Dearest cousin," she said, taking Tybalt's hand in hers, closing the circle, and blinking back the tears that threatened to prick at her eyes. "I think we have much to speak on."

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Shakespeare, per usual.
> 
> I'm trying to feel out what appeals to me about this three-way dynamic - as always, thoughts and feedback from anyone make my day. I love talking about this fandom! :-)


End file.
